Poems by Qaisar Bashir
Who Am I?
Am the son of a bruised dale
Wherein rivulets of blood flow,
Fractured sighs mothers here heave
When their sons they bereave
Am a pen with a broken tongue
Caged in my prison home,
Like visible light a flight I take
To dress but our wounded breeze
Am a wave rising in the sea of Kashmir
To wash away the handcuffs of tyranny,
Tyranny that has imprisoned not only us
But our sighs, our joys, our smiles
On the strands of unsung lakes
And forgotten shores,
I shall fall like snow
To balm the burns
Of the soil and souls
Living a life
And of disintegrity
O’ man! I don’t aspire thy phallus
Nor do I crave for thy riches;
I search for my annihilated Self
That you mistook for a glowing cherry
In the marts where virginities are auctioned!
You make merry while you pay
And for a while, I become your stuff,
And you make a toast of my desires!
You think you win?
Nay, I’m not a crown.
I hunt you
The way you hunt me
In the jungles of modernization!